


The Hero Lives

by dianalilwashu



Category: Tattered Weave (Video Game)
Genre: Death, Gen, Violence, Vomit, well sort of. u know how hero is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 09:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12932595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dianalilwashu/pseuds/dianalilwashu
Summary: Feeling helpless with grief, Dollmaker makes a sickening discovery at the end of the Hero's first punishing performance following the Damsel's death.





	The Hero Lives

Dollmaker leaned against a tree for support, his whole body shaking. His stomach was heaving again, but the night’s performance had already robbed him of anything more to lose. His throat burned from the losses, mask askew in the dark shadows by necessity; he was too weak to push it aside should his stomach empty itself forcibly again. It had been hours and the Wolf’s howling rage had yet to cease. Every scream, every sob, every shrieking curse word was punctuated both by the violent clash of combat and the crescendo of the Chorus Line. 

Dollmaker choked on the passion of their hatred, head tilting downward in case he managed to vomit again. It was clear where the majority sentiment lie: Hero was at fault. 

Hero had to die.

Another heart-wrenching scream echoed across the Stage and made him double over, sobbing. His glasses tipped off the edge of his nose and fell to the ground, invisible in the deep shadows of the woods. Dollmaker made no move to retrieve them. He didn’t want to see what Wolf had done.

Hero cried out in pain and Dollmaker flinched so hard he lost his balance and stumbled into the dirt. Their fight was getting closer. Silently he begged for Wolf to end it, to let the sickening hunt be over already so he could mourn and move on. Please, he thought, let there be some mercy outside the Narrator’s control.

An arrow thunked into wood nearby, prompting Dollmaker to let out a pitiful sound of terror. No, not here. Why did they have to circle back? Hero’s agony was played perfectly for his role, slowly twisting from loud, brave defiance to a pathetic whimper pleading for his life between attacks. Another clash of metal and a snarl from Wolf sent Hero flying. Dollmaker’s breath grew even shorter at the horrible sound of Hero’s armor shattering against a tree. It was followed shortly by a wet splatter as Hero dropped to the ground, mere feet away, so close that Dollmaker would be witness the brutal finale, willingly or not. Dollmaker clung to the roots where he’d fallen and stared intently at the dirt by his face. He didn’t want to see…

The Wolf’s footsteps were unusually loud as she stalked up to the Hero, who coughed and spluttered with blood filling his lungs. “You don’t deserve to die yet,” Wolf cried, her claws tearing through bark. She was grabbing onto a tree with every step, as though she too needed the support, clutching for stability in a world without any. “I’m not done with you yet!” Branches snapped where she forced them out of her way. “You killed my daughter! My daughter! My -” Her voice cracked as she slammed a spear into the Hero, who made one last gurgling plea before falling silent. “My only…”

There was a beat of quiet, the only noise coming from those in the play who couldn’t keep their crying to themselves. The music had ended. Wolf grunted with effort and suddenly the Hero’s body was flung into the tree that Dollmaker was hiding under. “You did this, too,” the Wolf howled accusingly. At last Dollmaker reluctantly looked up at her, vision swimming. Wolf’s mask was on, but her shirt was stained through with tears. “You let him take her.”

Dollmaker tried to protest, but all that came from his mouth was a sore, wordless croak worth nothing, his words as empty as his promises had ever been. Was it his turn, now? The script had never specified an ending. He trembled as he waited for the blow. He deserved it. He almost wanted it. A Curtain Fall on this suffering would be welcome at this point. 

The Wolf leveled her bloody spear at him. In the dark shadows of the forest, it looked more like ink than anything real, dripping threateningly. “You have to live with that,” she said hoarsely, and sharply turned away from him. 

He tried to breathe, but it felt impossible to do as she said. How could he live like this? What did he have to live for anymore? With trembling hands he pushed himself up onto his knees and sobbed. What a coward I am, he thought, reaching for a sturdy branch but then feeling too dizzy to stand. I can’t lie for her, I can’t die for her, and now I can’t even live for her?

A few steps away, the Hero moaned so softly he almost didn’t hear it. Dollmaker gripped tight the tree branch and shook his head helplessly. How was Hero still alive after all that? Desperately, he tried to shuffle forward, his mind spinning with exhaustion both physical and emotional. He wasn’t even sure what he would do when he reached Hero, whether he would have the strength to watch him die slowly or give him a swifter end, the only mercy that was left.

He shouldn’t have bothered. Just the sight of Hero, blurry though it was through tears and without any glasses, made Dollmaker’s empty stomach heave again. Feeling wretched, he tried to spit out what disgusting liquids burned their way though his gag reflex. Some of it spilled onto his long hair; not that he could have prevented that in his sorry state. Hero wheezed wetly again and Dollmaker tried to crawl along, flinching when his hands sunk into the growing pool of blood.

Dollmaker tried to speak and found himself without words again, rasping on an empty hollow of final lines he’d memorized over the years. What did it matter what he said? Words meant nothing to a dead man, which Hero would be shortly. It felt like forever before he could push past the waves of nausea to actually touch the shredded body before him. 

Hero was literally in pieces. Dollmaker bit back another dry heave and simply wept instead, hearing his own quiet keening as though it were someone else, some distant ghost who wailed for the living, rather than the other way around. His hands were shaking as he pulled arrows out of Hero’s ruined armor and dragged severed limbs back where they belonged, unsure why he was doing it. Foggily he decided it was because the body should be whole before he could bid the spirit farewell.

Hero’s left hand weakly grabbed his wrist. Dollmaker froze, eyes going unfocused. He had just put that hand back in place. Disbelieving, his gaze sank onto the Hero’s face, still hidden by a smiling mask. “De - ceiver,” Hero whispered uncertainly, questioningly. “What… are you… doing..?”

Dollmaker didn’t respond, paralyzed by the impossibility lying before him. His throat had swollen shut again, burning with questions of his own, stuck on answers he couldn’t give. The only thought his blank mind could conjure was that of the Damsel’s rushed excitement when he last saw her, baby in her arms, on the day of her death. Sickly he wondered, was this nightmare part of your plan?


End file.
